Reflective Parenting
informed by psychology,
inspired by real life with Sophia.

Monday, September 15, 2014

Glad to Have a Girl

This post was inspired by The Underground Girls of Kabul by journalist Jenny
Nordberg, who discovers a secret Afghani practice where girls are dressed and
raised as boys. Join From Left to Write on September 16th as we
discuss The Underground Girls of Kabul. As a member, I received a copy
of the book for review purposes.

There was a time when I could only imagine having a male
child.I’m kind of a teenage boy myself,
disguised in a 44-year-old woman’s body.I figured I would know how to interact with a boy.I like to be gross.I like getting dirty.I like to play rough.I pictured us investigating dinosaur bones
together.While pregnant, I squeezed my
eyes together and tried to picture my future child.I didn’t get a face, just a pair of legs
swinging from a chair in the cafeteria of the local science museum.

Yup, it’s a boy I thought.

We only had one name picked out for him:Holden. And at 11 pm each night, he kicked the
stuffing out of me, such that we took to calling him “Boom Boom Moore.”

He had to be a boy.

I wanted his sex to be a surprise, much to my husband's disappointment.When we went in for our
week 20, high-level ultrasound, I told the technician in no uncertain terms
that though my husband wanted to know the sex of the child, I was to be left in
the dark.I didn’t want any pointing and
giggling.The technician aimed her wand
and peered at the screen, pointing out body parts, like a transdermal tour
guide.I followed along, but when she
got to the pelvic region I averted my eyes because I didn’t want to
accidentally see the penis.She gave
nothing away.When it was over, I left
the room to pee (they make you do this on a maxed-out bladder), and my husband remained behind to find out what we were going to have.

“I don’t know,” the technician said.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” my husband asked.After all, wasn’t it their job to look for
nuchal folds and other things indiscernible to the untrained eye?

“The way the baby was turned, I couldn’t tell, not with
certainty.”

We walked out of there knowing one thing for sure, our baby
did not have an obvious penis. Well, so be it.

Fast forward to 20 weeks later, when the director of the Maternal Fetal Medicine department stood over me and announced that I had just given birth to a baby
girl.Much to my surprise, I was
thrilled.

How nice that I could be thrilled.That I don’t live in a society where a
daughter means shame and disappointment, where a daughter is something to be
mourned or hidden.Rather, that I live
in a place where being female means freedom—freedom to wear pants or a dress,
freedom to cry or be stoic, freedom to get pregnant or decide not to.

Life might have been different had Sophie been born a
boy.Different, but not better.

I was the oldest child of a dairy farmer. My father was extremely disappointed that I was a girl. My mom has five sisters, so I never once felt inferior for being a girl. Plus, my mom had a boy 13 months after I was born.

Welcome to my blog!

About Me

This blog chronicles a psychologist-mom's efforts to do right by her child amid the pressures of society, the recommendations of "experts," and the noise in her head by trusting her instincts. Through storytelling and essays she exposes her anxieties, shares her aspirations and reflects on the practice of being a parent. Melissa invites you to share what moves/irritates/inspires you...or to create a dialogue by offering your point of view. She is also interested in professional writing opportunities, especially on or employing reflective parenting.